


Five Professions Victor Nikiforov Wishes He Had Besides Skating (Plus One He Didn't Realize He Already Had)

by japansace



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kinda?, M/M, god they're so married even before they're actually married, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: Victor muses on all the things he could be besides a professional figure skater.(Or alternatively, me @ Kubo-sensei: PLEASE LET MY SON RETIRE. HE HAS HAD ENOUGH.)





	Five Professions Victor Nikiforov Wishes He Had Besides Skating (Plus One He Didn't Realize He Already Had)

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my dad who’s been a stockbroker for almost thirty years and literally every day tells me, “That’s it, Abby. Today’s the day. I’m out. I quit. I’m gonna buy a farm in New Zealand and herd goats,” and then goes right back to work like nothing’s happened.
> 
> (Btw, this doc is labeled “victoristoooldforthisshit.” God only knows what I’m actually gonna end up calling it.)

Victor would make an exemplary goat herder. 

He has this thought upon falling out of a quad that he could _definitely_ land last year, slapping against the ice, rolling like a pro, but for all his effort, still ending up with gloves full of slush and a blooming bruise on his hip.

It didn’t use to be this hard.

“Vitya, are you okay?”

Then again, he didn’t use to have Yuuri either, so really, he considers this current state of affairs a pretty fair trade.

“I’m fine,” Victor assures him and finds that he actually means it. Still, he takes Yuuri’s offered hand, overcompensating his balance upon his ascent in order to topple over into Yuuri and get a giggle out of him.

Because his fiancé is _amazing_ , Yuuri just catches him like it’s effortless and smothers his laughter into Victor’s neck. “So mean, Victor. You made me concerned over nothing.”  
  
“Ah, yes, I’m truly evil,” Victor agrees because it’s imperative that Yuuri never quite figures out the plot twist that Victor was simply gay all along; that way, Victor can keep surprising him over and over again with it. “A _villain,_ aren’t I?”

Yuuri just laughs some more, and Victor thinks again on his goat herder idea.

It’s not that he hates skating—he thinks he genuinely did at some point in the last few years but not quite with enough passion to call it “hate,” per se; it was more of an apathy, really—but maybe sooner rather than later, he’d like to settle down.

He looks at Yuuri and sees the love of his life walking down the aisle, their two point five children and forty poodles not far behind, and just thinks, why does skating matter again?

And it’s not that he’s suddenly taken up an interest in goat herding either; it’s the principle of it more than anything. He just wants something calmer, more relaxing than jet-setting around the world to major competitions that take the better part of a year to prepare for. After a while, it’s all a little much, and Victor now thinks—with surprisingly minimal despair—that his high-flying, thrill-seeking days are nearly behind him.

He’d be happy anywhere with Yuuri—doing anything with Yuuri.

Even herding goats in the middle of nowhere.

But then Yuuri takes off into a quad flip that he nails perfectly, blades kissing the ice with a satisfying crack, arms extended, chest presented, betraying himself with a proud little quirk of his lips, and Victor thinks that here is fine for now.

* * *

 

Victor would make a very excellent apple peeler.

That’s a profession, right? Apple peeling? Because Victor is very good at it.

Really, he’s good at anything—or _makes_ himself good at anything—that puts a smile on Yuuri’s face, and peeling fruit for him and feeding him like a baby bird certainly does that.

It almost makes him as happy as it makes Victor, even.

And there’s something about letting himself peel apples that intrinsically relaxing; he doesn’t have to worry about how to rack up scores for judges or how to appeal to his sponsors or even what he’s going to do that night or the next.

It's just him, Yuuri, and this peeled apple.

“Thank you, Vitya,” Yuuri says as he plucks the prepared fruit out of Victor’s hand on his way out the door, already biting into it as he exposes the apartment to the cool Russian air.

“Solnyyyysssshhhkoooo,” Victor whines after him, “I was gonna feed that to you…”

“Nope, too busy, already late,” Yuuri manages around a mouth full of apple. He wraps a scarf that may or may not be Victor’s a half a dozen times around his neck before departing with: “Be back in an hour, don’t let dinner burn while I’m gone, love you.”

“Love you,” Victor returns with no small amount of pouting. No matter how many times Victor assured his other half that he could teach him Russian, Yuuri still insisted on a tutor—which is probably good in hindsight because Victor is a bit of an idiot savant when it comes to things like that, having picked up French simply through being around Chris long enough.

Yuuri—and most people by extension, evidently—don’t work like that.

It’s fine. He’ll perfect his apple peeling in the meantime.

* * *

 

Victor would be the world’s greatest dog walker.

It’s not an unusual thought for him to have. He loves dogs—always has, always will—and Makkachin would probably be thrilled to have another seventy quasi-siblings tagging along with him on their strolls. He doesn't think Yuuri would particularly mind either based on how they have to physically cross the street to greet every dog Yuuri sees with the utmost enthusiasm.

Victor wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Victor, look, look! A corgi!” 

Victor claps along with Yuuri’s excitement, because really, how is he expected to hold back when his beloved looks so _enthralled_? “Aww~! How cute!”

Yuuri sobers suddenly, gazing at the dog with a sense of intensity that wouldn’t be misplaced in an Oscar-worthy performance. “I want five of them,” he declares with frightening sincerity.

And because Victor is a little shit— “Only five?”

“Five for now,” Yuuri says, benevolent. “I think we need a bigger apartment before we consider more.”

“Yeah,” Victor agrees, trying not to tear up over the concept of dogs—or his fiancé or his fiancé _with_ dogs—for the nth time this week. “Yeah, five is fine.”

* * *

 

Victor _knows_ he would be an exceptional fashion model.

He’s already entirely familiar with the profession, having modeled extensively throughout his career for interviews and ads and one particularly memorable stint into erotica (that Yuuri _definitely_ didn’t have bootleg copies of that he was just desperate enough to purchase from a European scalper back in the early 2000’s, so “stop asking, Vitya—!“)

The point is, he could just as easily slip back into the industry as one would slip into a well-loved sweater.

The perks of such a profession weren’t so bad either.

“Turn around, lyubov moya~!”

Despite the fact that Yuuri is embarrassed out of his mind, he still twirls with all the grace of a seasoned danseur en route to a prodigious production, ballet down to his core. “Like this?” he asks tentatively—like Victor might actually lavish something on him other than praise for once.

“Perfect,” Victor says with all the reverence of a prayer as the flash of his camera goes off yet again.

Yuuri only grows redder. “I don’t even know why you’re having _me_ model these. The companies sent them to you.” He shakes out the sleeves, emphasizing, “And they’re like two sizes two big on me. I probably look ridiculous.” The collar of his shirt picks that exact moment to dip down his shoulder and catches there, framing him à la avant-garde.

The camera shutter resounds for perhaps the millionth time, but it feels like the first.

“Beautiful.” And he is.

For now, Victor is perfectly content to leave the modeling career to Yuuri. He does make a fine model, after all.

* * *

 

Victor wouldn’t be a terrible gardener.

Okay, that’s a lie. He has the exact opposite of a green thumb. He can’t even contribute to the aesthetics of it, because the last time he tried to construct a shelf for his and Yuuri’s succulent collection, Yuuri had deemed him “not to be trusted with power tools” and banished him to the corner.

It’s not Victor’s fault he never did any real work before age twenty. All his plants were fake before Yuuri.

(A lot of things were fake before Yuuri.)

Still, Victor loves to see their apartment filled to the brim with flowers that had been thrown at them from the stands, physical manifestations of the public’s approval of them.

Yuuri keeps them around as long as he can, fawning over the roses Victor received at Russian Nationals like a treasure to be adored.

“I’m right here, you know,” Victor murmurs into Yuuri’s hair, feeling especially needy. “Stop loving on the flowers and love on meeeeee.”

Yuuri chuckles, continuing to pour fresh water into the vase. “In a second, Vitya.”

“No, noooooowww,” Victor groans, picking up Yuuri and slinging him over his shoulder like an particularly unruly sack of potatoes. 

“Vitya, the rest—“

“Can wait,” Victor intervenes. “They’re not going anywhere.”

Yuuri just sighs and resigns himself to an afternoon of cuddling, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all.

So Victor’s no gardener. That’s fine. It’s just a good thing he’s a figure skater.

* * *

 

Victor knew. He knew, he knew, oh, he _knew_ , but this—

“I’m so sorry, Victor! I’ll call the station and have them fix it immediately! I’ll—“

“It’s okay, love,” Victor says, catching Yuuri by the wrist before he can flitter out of sight. Victor’s voice feels a bit far away, he thinks, but it might just be the acoustics in the rink.

They’re at an ice show in Japan—Yuuri’s home turf—and the camera, accordingly, paid special attention to him. Below his name, it listed his status as Japan’s reigning champion as well as his more recent accomplishments.

And then, when it panned to Victor—

People had been tweeting and instagraming and tagging him every which way and that in the video—and later, the screenshot—of Victor looking over fondly at Yuuri, but more prominently, the caption placed below him, reading:

ヴィクトル・ニキフォロフ

日本のエース勝生 勇利のパートナー

Victor Nikiforov

Japan’s Ace, Yuuri Katsuki’s Partner

It’s a serious faux pas, for sure, to not properly acknowledge a five-time consecutive gold medalist for what he was at a skating event—and to only announce his presence in relation to the host country’s representative skater. Heads are rolling at whatever studio carelessly made that executive decision, no doubt.

And yet, even with all the fun being poked at him by everyone from talk show hosts to fellow skaters, he can’t find it in himself to be anything but utterly ecstatic at this turn of events.

It’s not like it’s even inaccurate reporting. He’d happily let himself only be known as “Yuuri’s Katsuki’s Trophy Husband” for the rest of his days if Yuuri would only let him get away with it.

“Viiiictoooor. Stop looking at it.” Yuuri makes a swipe at Victor’s phone that’s hosting an endless scroll of the now infamous shot in what must be a hundred different languages and with varying degrees of quality in regard to how they are being memed. Victor just holds it out of reach and murmurs, “In a minute, solnyshko.”

When Yuuri becomes truly whiny—rubbing his head into Victor’s jacket and giving himself terribly endearing mussed hair in the process—Victor finally decides he’s had enough for now and locks his phone—but not before setting a cropped version of it as his new profile picture.

Because it might not be a profession, technically, but he thinks it might very well be a fine calling to be Yuuri’s partner for the rest of all time.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t mean for this to turn into a 5+1 thing, but then it happened…? It wasn't meant to be a thing at all, really. I swear this whole thing just wrote itself. 
> 
> Also, happy late YOI-versary~!


End file.
